My entire body turns into a firework of pleasure when Dash’s lips meet mine. Not a single ounce of me wants him to stop. A tiny voice in the back of my head reminds me that he’s the man who’s going to ruin my aunt’s shop for good, but a far louder one smacks that voice across the face.

His hands are on my waist, on my hips, and he pulls me close like he’s been waiting his entire life to do this.

On some level, I know that’s not true. He has a daughter, and she didn’t come out of nowhere. God, I’m an asshole. I never asked him what her name was.

“Wait. Wait…” I push my hands against the muscled expanse of his chest.

“What?” He’s still bending toward me, inches away.

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

His eyes are so green, like high summer in the fields outside Lakewood. “Rosalyn,” he says, his voice heavy with impatience. “But I call her Rosie. So does everyone else. Why?”

“I never asked,” I breathe against him. “I thought I should ask.”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?” I spread my fingers out against his shirt. I want to take fistfuls of the fabric and yank it over his head.

“Shut up.”

He kisses me again, so hard I gasp. When was the last time a man kissed me like this? It wasn’t Sol, the boyfriend I had right after college, the one who ran so fast in the opposite direction after The Incident that I didn’t even get a forwarding address. He was a slow kisser, which is fine. It’s not fine in comparison to kissing Dash. It’s like getting top-shelf alcohol for the first time. Once you’ve had that, the cheap shit only leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

Dash tastes minty and strong, and my whole body responds to his touch, little tendrils of electricity rushing down from my hips to my toes. I should have known it would be this way. I should have known that kissing him would be like flinging myself right into the center of a thunderstorm and letting that lightning scatter through me like a midnight cloud.

“God,” he growls, “I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you dancing that day.”

“Oh, no,” I groan. “Don’t remind me about that.” He plants little kisses down the line of my neck toward my collarbone, each one a tiny explosion all on its own.

“Why not?” More kisses. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Tell me you can stop, and I’ll stop.”

“I can’t,” I admit. “Not at night.”

“Night is the worst time,” he agrees, and then he comes in for another lingering slow burn of a kiss that has me melting right through my shorts. That’s what it feels like. I hope the situation isn’t that dire. Otherwise, it’s going to be an awkward stroll back to my car.

Dash pins me up against the doorframe, and I get a good look at the inside of the store for the first time. “Shit,” I murmur up against his mouth.

“What?”

“This place is nice,” I say.

“This is nice.” He plays his hands over the curve of my waist and dips lower, only to rise up again underneath my shirt, his palms on my bare skin. Frustration grows in my chest. I want more from Dash Huxley. I’m not the kind of girl who sleeps with a man on the first date. All my life, I’ve been the type who has best friends who turn into boyfriends who turn into lovers, and it’s always a crushing blow when it inevitably falls apart. Dash is none of those things. We’re not best friends, and he’s not my boyfriend, but if he pulled down my shorts right now I wouldn’t stop him.

I wouldn’t stop him for a second. Right here in this shop. That’s how much he’s taken over my nights, my dreams. 

There’s only one thing between us.

Two things.

Two coffee shops.

He works his hand up under my bra, his tongue finding mine in my mouth, and when I think I’m going to scream he takes one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger and rolls it in his grasp.

My head drops back against the doorframe, making contact with a heavy thud, pain spiking through the back of my skull.

“Shit, that hurts,” I hiss, leaning forward into him, rubbing at my head.

“Sorry, Ellie,” Dash says, sliding his hand away from my breast as if he’s going to back away.

I catch it down by my belly button, pinning it with my free hand. “You’ll be sorrier if you move that hand another inch.”

His answering smile is pure sex. I want some of that. “Oh, will I?” He moves his hand back up, teasing me with the pad of his thumb. I’m wriggling under his touch, moving as close as I can get without stopping the movement of his hand. Jesus, it feels so good, it feels so right, and I want to know what he can do between my legs. I have to know.

“I’ll make you sorry.”

He grins against my lips, then takes my bottom one between his teeth, a gentle tug. “I’ll make you happy.”

I’m floating in a sea of pleasure, but those damn coffee shops pull at the last corner of my conscience that’s still above water. I let my hands curl into fists, clutching more of his shirt, and hold him still while I pull back, an inch between us.

“Don’t open this coffee shop,” I command.

He looks right back at me. “I’m going to do it. You can’t stop me.”

I breathe more of him in. “Then we’re sworn enemies.”

He raises a hand to the side of my face, his thumb against my cheek, and searches my eyes. “How about part-time enemies?”

The words this isn’t a negotiation are on the tip of my tongue, but he rolls my nipple between his fingers again. I don’t fall to my knees in a puddle of desire, but it’s a near thing. “Fine, but which parts of the day are we going to—”

“Shh,” he says, and it’s a long time before either of us speaks again.